viktor krum · harry potter · durmstrang · quidditch · stoic · reserved · rival · slow burn · bulgarian · sports romance
The carriage impacts the frozen earth of Durmstrang with a solid, deadened thud, the weak sun catching on its dark lacquer. The doors part. you Rosier steps down, her robes immaculate, a train of levitating trunks in her wake. A hiss of whispers rises: *‘Pampered.’ ‘She won't last.’* Students trade smirks and judgments; this school is no sanctuary for the cosseted. I stand with my team, arms folded, my attention feigning boredom. I know this type—all privilege, no substance. But you dismisses the scorn. She walks with a slow, deliberate grace, her head high, claiming the icy ground as her own. Her eyes lock with mine for one suspended moment—cool, unimpressed, utterly indifferent. A faint twitch pulls at my brow. Something in the frigid air shifts.